The Middle of Things

conclusions are these: From certain investigations which Mr. Viner and I have made since this affair began⁠—with the murder of Ashton⁠—and from certain evidence which we have unearthed, I believe that Ashton’s friend Wickham, the father of the girl we are going to produce this afternoon, was in reality your lordship’s uncle, the missing Lord Marketstoke. I believe that Ashton came to England in order to prove this, and that he was probably about to begin proceedings when he was murdered⁠—for the sake of those papers which we have just seen. And I believe, too, that we have not seen all the papers which were stolen from his dead body. What was produced to us just now by Methley and Woodlesford was a selection⁠—the probability is that there are other and more important papers in the hands of the murderer, whose cat’s-paw or accomplice this claimant, whoever he may be, is. I believe,” concluded Mr. Pawle, with emphasis, “that my conclusions will be found to be correct ones, based on indisputable fact.”

Lord Ellingham looked from one solicitor to the other.

“Then,” he said, with something of a smile, “if Wickham was really my uncle, Lord Marketstoke, and this young lady you tell me of is his daughter⁠—what, definitely, is my position?”

Mr. Pawle looked at Mr. Carless, and Mr. Carless shook his head.

“If Mr. Pawle’s theory is correct,” he said, “and mind you, Pawle, it will take a lot of proving. If Mr. Pawle’s theory is correct, the position, my lord, is this. The young lady we hear of is Countess of Ellingham in her own right! She would not be the first woman to succeed to the title: there was a Countess of Ellingham in the time of George the Third. She would, of course, have to prove her claim before the House of Lords⁠—if made good, she succeeds to titles and estates. That’s the plain English of it⁠—and upon my honour,” concluded Mr. Carless, “it’s one of the most extraordinary things I ever heard of. This other affair is nothing to it!”

Lord Ellingham again inspected the legal countenances.

“I see nothing at all improbable about it,” he said. “We may as well face that fact at once. I will be here at three o’clock, Mr. Carless. I confess I should like to meet my cousin⁠—if she really is that!”

“Your Lordship takes it admirably!” exclaimed Mr. Carless. “But really⁠—well, I don’t know. However, we shall see. But, ’pon my honour, it’s most odd! One claimant disposed of, another, a more formidable one, comes on!”

“But we have not disposed of the first, have we?” suggested Lord Ellingham.

“I don’t anticipate any trouble in that quarter,” answered Mr. Carless. “As I said to those two who have just gone out⁠—send or bring the man here, and we’ll tell in one minute if he’s what he claims to be!”

“But⁠—how?” asked Lord Ellingham. “You seem very certain.”

“Dead certain!” asserted Mr. Carless. He looked round his callers and laughed. “I may as well tell you,” he said. “Portlethwaite drew me aside to remind me of it. The real Lord Marketstoke, if he were alive, could easily be identified. He lost a finger when a mere boy.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Pawle. “Good⁠—excellent! Best bit of evidence I’ve heard of. Hang this claimant! Now we can tell if Wickham really was Lord Marketstoke. If necessary, we can have his body exhumed and examined.”

“It was a shooting accident,” continued Mr. Carless. “He was out shooting in the park at Ellingham when a boy of fourteen or fifteen; he was using an old muzzle-loading gun; it burst, and he lost his second finger⁠—the right hand. It was, of course, very noticeable. Now, that small but very important fact is most likely not known to Methley and Woodlesford’s client⁠—but it’s known to Driver and to Portlethwaite and to me, and now to all of you. If this man comes here⁠—look at his right hand! If he possesses his full complement of fingers, well⁠—”

Mr. Carless ended with a significant grimace, and Mr. Pawle, nodding assent, returned to the question which he was putting when Lord Ellingham interrupted him.

“Now let us settle the point I raised,” he said. “Are we to tell Miss Wickham what my conclusions are, or are we to leave her in ignorance until we get proof that they are correct?”

“Or⁠—incorrect!” answered Mr. Carless with an admonitory laugh. “I should say⁠—at present, tell her nothing. Let us find out all we can from her; there are several questions I should like to ask her, myself, arising out of what you have told us. Leave all the rest until a later period. If your theory is correct, Pawle, it can be established, if it isn’t, the girl may as well be left in ignorance that you ever raised it.”

“Until three o’clock, then,” said Mr. Pawle.

Three o’clock found the old lawyer and Viner pacing the pavement of Lincoln’s Inn Fields in expectation of Miss Wickham’s arrival. She came at last in the taxicab which Mr. Pawle had sent for her, and her first words on stepping out of it were of surprise and inquiry.

“What is it, Mr. Pawle?” she demanded as she shook hands with her two squires. “More questions? What’s it all about?”

Mr. Pawle nudged Viner’s arm.

“My dear young lady,” he answered in grave and fatherly fashion, “you must bear in mind that a man’s life is in danger. We are doing all we can to clear that unfortunate young fellow Hyde of the dreadful charge which has been brought against him, and to do that we must get to know all we can about your late guardian, you know.”

“I know so little about Mr. Ashton,” said Miss Wickham, looking apprehensively at the building towards which she was being conducted. “Where are you taking me?”

“To a solicitor’s office⁠—friends of mine,” answered Mr. Pawle. “Carless and Driver⁠—excellent people. Mr. Carless wants to ask you a few questions in the hope that your answers will give us a little more light on Ashton’s history. You needn’t